


Of sunlight and domesticity

by smudgesofink



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cotton Candy Fluff, Domestic Bliss, I'm making it a thing, Is that a thing, M/M, Poetry Kink, bonus yuri(o) pretending to be annoyed, just victuuri being sappy babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smudgesofink/pseuds/smudgesofink
Summary: “Guess we can finally get married now,” he hums, voice casual even when what he feels is anything but. Even without looking, Victor can tell Yuuri is biting his lip to keep himself from grinning too happily. “Took you long enough, solnyshko.”“It wouldn’t have taken this long if you didn’t make that condition in the first place.”“But Yuuriiii, where’s the fun in that? Besides, I quite like seeing you on top of me—“Yuuri laughs. “Victor!”“—on the podium,” Victor corrects innocently, “On the podium on top of me.”(Or: snippets and drabbles of Victor and Yuuri's life together)





	1. In which silver feels like a victory

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! *awkward hand wave* I'm back yet again with more sappy goodness of these two dorks. I'm planning to have this work become a compilation of my YOI drabbles and ficlets. Hopefully you guys will find them cute enough, hahaha. Or at the very least, I hope these will make you smile like they make me smile whenever I write them.

They’re getting married.

With the sweat on his back sinking uncomfortably into his costume, Victor’s first and only thought is that they’re getting married. There are cameras flashing at them at blinding speeds as they hold up their medals, recording their every move, and the reporters yell for their attention. Victor drowns them all out.

Victor can’t exactly spare anyone a second of his glance.

Not when from the top podium, his fiancé holds up his gold medal with pride and just a hint of overwhelming disbelief, still in shock that he actually won. 

Not when Yuuri looks down at him with twinkling dark eyes and a breathless, slow grin, sweat beading at his hairline, looking like a masterpiece that has come to life. 

Not when he stares at Victor with his chest heaving, beautiful brown eyes shiny with happy tears, as if to say, _Look at me, Vitya. Look how far I’ve come._

The sight makes Victor’s throat run dry, makes his gut flutter and his heart hammer inside his chest with the bruising force of his adoration. It makes Victor want to say, _Happiness and a gold medal looks beautiful on you, solnyshko._

It makes him want to say, _you make me fall in love with you again and again._

It makes him want to say, _you are everything I’ve ever wanted._

It makes him want to say, _please marry me. Please stay forever. I love you, I love you, I love you—_

Instead, Victor says, “He wins his first gold medal and my _solnyshko’s_ already drunk on power. Unbelievable.”

Yuuri chokes on a wet laugh, the hand that isn’t holding up his medal trembling a little by his side. Whether that’s from exhaustion or from nerves, Victor doesn’t know. He gives Yuuri another soft smile anyway, and changes hands so he can reach up and squeeze Yuuri’s free hand. 

Gold medalist or not, Yuuri will always be Yuuri.

“Silver suits you, _Vitya_ ,” Yuuri says after a while, once his voice wavers less, “It matches your thinning gray hair.”

“You said my hair looked fine the other day!” Victor gasps dramatically and presses a hand over his chest. “You wound me too much, Yuuri!”

“I’ll make it up to you by letting you kiss my medal,” Yuuri teases, smiling like a literal ray of sunlight, _and god Victor wants to pull him down and kiss him until he’s drowning_.

Victor ducks his head, chuckles to hide the rare flush on his cheeks. His heart bangs against his ribcage like a drum concert and when Victor looks up again, he smiles like a sap at the cameras.

“Guess we can finally get married now,” he hums, voice casual even when what he feels is anything but. Even without looking, Victor can tell Yuuri is biting his lip to keep himself from grinning too happily. 

“I guess we can,” Yuuri whispers back.

It’s a little silly—Victor feels too in love, too ridiculously smitten. His eyes are just slightly prickly with heat. It’s a dangerous situation and Victor is as terrified as he is happy. He will have it no other way. “Took you long enough, _solnyshko._ ”

“It wouldn’t have taken this long if you didn’t make that condition in the first place.”

“But _Yuuriiii_ , where’s the fun in that? Besides, I quite like seeing you on top of me—“

Yuuri laughs. “Victor!”

“—on the podium,” Victor corrects innocently, “On the podium on top of me.”

“Oi, stop fucking flirting on live TV,” Yura hisses by the side and the two of them snap to attention, giggling like high schoolers. Victor can almost visualize Yura’s exasperated eye roll, the tight purse of his mouth to hide the small smile threatening to take over his face. “Jesus, you two are impossible.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Yura,” Victor says, looking at him. “We haven’t forgotten about you!”

“You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you?” Yuuri pipes in with a grin. Hearing the word _wedding_ coming out of Yuuri’s mouth is enough to make Victor swallow back the lump of emotion building in his throat.

 _Wedding,_ Victor thinks breathlessly, _our wedding._

 _“_ Damn right I’ll be at the wedding,” Yura growls under his breath. His scowl is softer than usual despite getting the 3rd place, his eyes begrudgingly fond as he glares at them. “After all the suffering you assholes put me through, I better have a fucking important role in there.”

“You can be the ring bearer, if you want,” Yuuri offers with an angelic smile. “Makkachin can take your place as one of the groomsmen.”

Yura swears up a storm. Victor laughs. 

When the cameramen try to get them to behave and tell them to smile, Victor holds his medal up higher, clasps Yuuri’s hand tighter, and smiles the brightest.


	2. In which poetry is a metaphor (for pleasure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Victor says cheekily, giggling like a schoolboy, “poetry does it for you? I never would have known, solnyshko.”
> 
> “Stop.” Yuuri squirms in his seat, flustered and much to his annoyance, still turned-on. “Stop it, that’s not, that’s not fair—“
> 
> “You’ve got a poetry kink,” Victor laughs and Yuuri groans in regret once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaAAAHHH, this is my first ever nsfw-ish work so I'm very embarrassed but oddly proud of it and I??? don't really know how to feel??? But anyways, let's do this, I hope you guys enjoy!

It’s probably one of the cheesiest things he’s ever heard but it doesn’t stop Yuuri from blushing head to toe as Victor whispers a love poem to him during one of their free afternoons.

They’re supposed to be watching TV, some sort of Russian telenovela that Yuuri can only understand because Victor keeps murmuring English translations in his ear, but somewhere along the part where the main actress has pushed someone down the stairs, the translations turned poetic and tender and Victor comes to a stop punctuated by a butterfly-soft kiss on his jaw.

Yuuri whirls around, wide-eyed and red-faced, slapping a hand over his ear.

“W-What was that?” He stammers, gesturing at…whatever Victor just did. The remote slips from his grip and Yuuri yelps, fumbles to catch it but it thuds dully against the carpeted floor and startles Makkachin who was sleeping at their feet.

Yuuri winces apologetically at the dog’s whine. “Sorry, Makkachin.”

Victor laughs, a low smug sound vibrating deep within his chest that sends warmth pooling in Yuuri’s gut. As he intertwines their fingers above Yuuri’s lap, Victor smiles. “It’s entitled _I Will Wade Out_ ,” he says, looking at Yuuri from under his lashes. “Do you like it?”

It’s a weirdly suggestive sight to behold, and Yuuri is torn between wanting to crawl under a rock and hide until his blush goes away and wanting to jump Victor right then and there.

Instead, Yuuri says, “By e.e. cummings, right?”

Victor’s ocean eyes light up with interest. “You know e.e. cummings?” He asks, and then raises Yuuri’s palm to kiss it. “Yuuri, you’re so full of wonderful surprises.”

“I took up English literature in college,” Yuuri explains, flushing at the attention. “I didn’t know you like poetry.”

“I like _his_ poetry,” Victor says simply. He plays with Yuuri’s hand, teasing with gentle caresses and soft presses of his fingertips ghosting over his skin. “They make good inspiration, so expressive and hopeful. I’ve always been a fan of the way his poems are so full of emotion, so full of love—” Victor brings Yuuri’s hand up to his mouth again, this time to brush his lips against Yuuri’s wrist, just right above his pulse, “—so full of desire.”

Victor’s words hang between them like a pendulum, stirring the heat in the atmosphere. The television blares on like a background noise that Yuuri can’t be bothered to pay attention to. He draws in a sharp breath, releases it as a stuttering exhale. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Victor doesn’t miss it, his eyes flickering to the pink of Yuuri’s mouth.

Victor’s stare never wavers, all liquid heat and want. “Don’t you think so, _lyubimiyy_?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri whispers. He bites his bottom lip, watches with fascination the way Victor looks at it as if he wants to suck it into his own mouth. “Why don’t you recite me another poem, just to make sure?”

“Ah.” Victor chuckles.  
  
He moves near until Yuuri can feel every exchanged breath between them, electric with tension. “How about this one? _When I have thought of you somewhat too much and am become perfectly and simply Lustful,_ ” Victor thumbs the corner of Yuuri’s lips, inching closer, “ _…sense a gradual stir of beginning muscle and what it will do to me before shutting, understand I love you,_ ” their noses bump together and Yuuri’s breath hitches, heart racing at the deliberate slide of Victor’s fingers through the hair on his nape, “ _feel your suddenly body reach for me with a speed of white speech…_ ”

Victor kisses him, slow and soft and hot, taking the air of out his lungs so sweetly. Yuuri’s hands are clumsy for composure as they clutch at Victor’s shirt, twitching with surprise every time Victor’s tongue dips teasingly into his mouth.

When they part for air, Victor breathes against his lips, “ _The simple instant of perfect hunger_ , _yes,_ ” and Yuuri feels his face burn with embarrassment and arousal alike.

“Victor,” he groans in mortification, dropping his head on his fiancé’s shoulder and grumbling at Victor’s delighted laugh. “What the hell was that?”

“So,” Victor says cheekily, giggling like a schoolboy, “poetry does it for you? I never would have known, _solnyshko_.”

“Stop.” Yuuri squirms in his seat, flustered and much to his annoyance, still turned-on. “Stop it, that’s not, that’s not fair—“

“You’ve got a poetry kink,” Victor laughs and Yuuri groans in regret once more. “It’s okay, Yuuri, I accept it and I love you—“

“Shut up,” Yuuri says, pulling Victor down by the collar. He presses their mouths together, swallowing all of Victor’s laughter and smiles. “Shut up and kiss me.”

 

.

 

.

 

Victor spends a week teasing Yuuri about it, reciting lines from poems during random times of the day.

Yuuri takes it in stride, unaffected.

…Or so Victor thinks.

 

.

 

.

 

“Recite a poem for me,” Yuuri says one night as he plays with Victor’s hair, the two of them cuddling on the bed with Victor nestled between Yuuri’s legs. The request is so out of the blue that it takes Victor a whole minute to understand what he means.

“What, really?” Victor asks, blinking in surprise. He’s almost completely forgotten about the incident, especially since Yuuri didn’t really seem like he wanted to react to it whenever Victor teased him. A smirk makes its way to Victor’s expression. “ _Yuuri_ ,” he purrs, attempting to turn around and face Yuuri properly, “if you wanted to hear me whisper sweet nothings in your ear, you didn’t have to wait—oof!”

“No.” Yuuri holds him still, hands closed tight around Victor’s arms. Victor can feel the strength thrumming under Yuuri’s fingertips, can feel the possessiveness in his grip. “I want you to stay just like this.” Yuuri noses at his nape, breathing deeply at the back of Victor’s neck. “Can you do that for me, _Vitya_?”

_Oh._

“I—yes,” Victor swallows heavily and resists the urge to shudder. “Yes, okay. Which—which poem do you want to hear?”

“Hmm,” Yuuri gives a noncommittal hum, making a show of thinking as he drags his hands down Victor’s shirt and starts undoing the buttons one by one. “Let’s see.” He spreads his palms across Victor’s chest, letting the shirt fall to the sides and expose his torso. “Another e.e. cummings poem, maybe? Is that okay?”

“O-Okay,” Victor stammers, the syllables tripping over each other in their haste to be spoken. He licks his lips and struggles to maintain what’s left of his composure, even when the thoughts in his head are nothing more than a mantra of _touch me touch me please please please YuuriYuuriYuuriYuuriYuuri—_

“Victor?”

“ _I—I like my body_ ,” Victor begins in a whisper, low and wanting, “ _when it is your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves—_ ” he cuts himself off with a gasp when Yuuri’s fingers brush against a nipple, sparking heat and fire across his entire being. Yuuri smiles, circles the sensitive peak with a calloused thumb. It leaves Victor aching and he leans back on Yuuri as his body becomes heavier with need, “— _more._ ”

Yuuri chuckles darkly. “Is that part of the poem or is that you talking?”

“It’s the poem,” Victor manages through greedy mouthfuls of air. He takes a shaky breath before continuing, “ _I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows._ ” He sighs as Yuuri slides his touch further down, tracing the bumps of his ribs and drawing shapes over the expanse of his skin. “ _I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the—_ ah, god, Yuuri—”

Victor bites back a moan, head falling to the side as Yuuri mouths wetly at his jaw, sucking bruises on the juncture of his neck. Yuuri scrapes his teeth gently against Victor’s pulse and Victor trembles between his legs, his hands grasping at the sheets under them.

“Yuuri, _ohhhh—_ ”

“The poem, Victor,” Yuuri reminds, speaking with his mouth over the tingling skin of Victor’s neck, and it does nothing except make Victor groan even more. “Can you continue the poem for me? Please?”

Victor closes his eyes in defeat. He can feel arousal sitting heavily in his abdomen, uncomfortable and warm, but when Yuuri says _please_ like that, there’s really nothing Victor can do but obey.

“ _And the trembling-firm-smoothness,”_ Victor starts again, “ _and which i will again and again and again kiss._ ” Yuuri lets out a happy sound, and like the poem says, rewards Victor with a trail of tender kisses painted on the length of his neck, leading down to his collarbone.

“ _I like kissing this and that of you,_ ” Victor recites, hushed and laced with sincerity, “ _I like, slowly stroking the, the…the—_ ”

“Yes?”

Victor shakes his head, closing his eyes desperately at the feeling of Yuuri’s fingers dipping inside the waistband of his underwear, playing with the curls of short hair, just a centimeter short of where Victor badly wants to be touched.

“Victor,” Yuuri prompts.

“ _t-the shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it c-comes over parting flesh_ ,” Victor stifles a whimper, squirming against Yuuri and receiving a pleasant shock that curls deep in his gut like a lightning bolt as he feels Yuuri’s hard outline poking his lower back, “ _And eyes big love-crumbs. And p-possibly,_ ” Victor stutters, face flushed and breathing labored as Yuuri places a gentle finger on the tip of his leaking cock, spreading the wetness around the head, “ _possibly I like the t-thrill—_ ”

Victor gasps. Yuuri’s grip on him is tight and hot, sliding up _slow slow slow,_ and his hips jerk upwards of their own accord.

 _“I l-like the thrill of under me you so q-quite new._ ”

When he reaches the end of the poem, Yuuri takes his hand out of Victor’s underwear, pushes him down on the bed and straddles him. Yuuri kisses him deep and wet, open-mouthed and dirty, and Victor is a helpless man who surges up wantonly and _moans for it._

“That was wonderful,” Yuuri praises with dark eyes as they break apart, leaving Victor panting for more. He reaches down to cup Victor through the wet fabric of his briefs and grins dangerously at the pleading gasp Victor lets out. “Should I recite you a poem in return?”

“Please,” Victor begs. He scrambles to pull Yuuri down, to crash their mouths together, to press against Yuuri’s tight body, “Please, please, _god, Yuuri, please—_ ”

“ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_ ” Yuuri says almost teasingly and when he mouths the words of the sonnet over the hollow of his throat, Victor throws his head back and drowns in poetry and ecstasy.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“What do you know, you’ve got a poetry kink, too—”

“Stop it.”

“It’s okay, Victor. I accept you and love you in spite of it—”

Victor hits Yuuri with a pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *laughs nervously* is it obvious now that I'm an English major nerd who's obsessed with poetry?
> 
> P.S. This fic is inspired from this lovely headcanon: https://sliktordickiforov.tumblr.com/post/161952426050/viktor-loves-earnest-erotic-love-poetry-loves-it

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading the comments you guys have left on my previous works and you guys??? are so amazing???? I'm so touched and emotional, you guys are too kind and I'm utterly grateful for every single comment you leave on my works. I'm terrible at responding to them but I hope you guys know that I deeply appreciate your support and enthusiasm. 
> 
> Thank you. Just, thank you so much.


End file.
